


Crashing, Understanding, Blinding, Stumbling

by AlwaysLera



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Natasha has a concussion, Patient Clint is Patient, Plane Crash, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, relationship realizations, team feels!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysLera/pseuds/AlwaysLera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is temporarily blinded. Natasha has a concussion. They're somewhere in Russia. Problem? No, there's no problem here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crashing, Understanding, Blinding, Stumbling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [f_romanoff_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_romanoff_13/gifts).



> This is written off a prompt f_romanoff_13 gave me on my fic Two Plus Two Is Five.: Tony and Natasha are captured, Tony is injured and is temporarily blind. He needs to rely on Natasha to help get out but she has a concussion...
> 
> It ended up being more Tony-centric so I hope everyone still likes it?
> 
> I mixed it up with my 'verse in Home Is A Fire and See Something, Say Something because I liked writing that 'verse so much. So while there are references and allusions to Two Plus Two Is Five, it's set in the other 'verse. I'm mixing it up here, okay? Roll with it. :)

Sometimes missions went south. But as far as Tony Stark was concerned, none had gone worse than this one. He’d rather be back under an ocean, back with Pepper in danger, on an oil rig on fire, fighting off an egomanical man with suits that rivaled Tony’s suit, than be exactly where he was. This example would be much more interesting if he could actually identify where he was. It was cold. It was snowy. It was dark, or he was pretty sure it was dark. And it was not anywhere where he and the Black Widow should have been. He filed this under: Reasons To Travel with a Back-Up Suit and also, Reasons I Hate Commercial Airlines.

            He didn’t really hate commercial airlines. Mostly just the ones flying out of Russia. The ones that collided with the small propeller plane he and Natasha Romanov had been flying into Siberia to investigate reports that a former Soviet chemical weapons lab had been compromised by a new, younger rogue organization called _KYIA_. KYIA was funding everything they could: Chechen rebels, South Ossetian separatists, the Taliban across the border in Afghanistan, extremists in Pakistan, the regime in Iran. On the flight over, before it abruptly ended because some people couldn’t handle sticking to their flight plans, Tony and Romanov had discussed the possibility that KYIA was code for CHAOS because that’s what they seemed to like. No one could figure out the organization’s intention or mission beyond disrupting international stability.

            “It’s not,” Romanov had explained, “like I disagree with people’s right to their own country. I’m not against South Ossetian independence. I’m very much for Chechan independence, if I’m asked.”

            “I’m asking,” Tony had said, fiddling with the controls. JARVIS was flying the plane.

            “It’s that I disagree with the methods by which people obtain this independence.”

            Tony had looked over at Romanov “You sound exactly like the Russian government right now.”

            Romanov had shrugged, nonplussed by the implied insult. “I’m Russian. That’ll happen.”

            “There’s no other discourse or methodology for obtaining independence except through violence,” argued Tony, glaring at her. “And when you live under an oppressive regime--,”

            “This Russian government isn’t oppressive. People who think is oppressive have forgotten history.” Romanov’s tone left no room for argument.

            For normal people. Tony always found room. “Yeah, that’s an effective argument. It’s like saying, “Well, it’s not racism that discrimination exists because it used to be worse.”

            Romanov’s lips quirked into a smile. “Yes. I’m sure that you as a white, wealthy male in America have a lot of experience with that, Stark.”

            Tony scowled at her. “I’m saying that that argument isn’t effective. History doesn’t excuse the present.”

            She tilted her head a bit, her eyes lighting up briefly. Tony could see why Barton had been head over heels for this woman for years, and willing to wait. She had only been back to Avengers missions for a few months after the whole Emily/Natasha debacle that had shattered everything solid around all of them. Tony was pretty sure that Romanov and Barton had no idea how much that entire mission had compromised the entire team. They had all been sucked into Barton’s past mistakes, the choice he had made between Romanov and his daughter, and the return of Romanov. On his side, Tony knew that he’d never really forget getting to that safe house outside Volgograd and finding Natasha with shattered arms amongst the rubble and the tattered, beaten, tired girls from the Red Room. He woke not infrequently with nightmares about that night.

            He had been thinking about that when JARVIS suddenly blared, “Sir. We have an erratic commercial airliner ahead of us. They are not holding to a pattern.”

            Tony rolled his eyes. “Well. Avoid them.”

            JARVIS replied, “Yes, sir. Of course.”

            Romanov leaned forward, peering through the clouds. “What does he mean?”

            “He means your people can’t fly.”

            The look she gave him was killer hot and he had to think of dead squid and how much Barton would have his balls if Tony ever admitted in any way shape or form that he had been turned on by Romanov’s glare. “Cool your jets, Spideygirl. We got this.”

            They did not in fact have this at all. For all the flying in the world, JARVIS couldn’t make the stupid propeller plane they had rented do what he needed to do to avoid the giant jet plane that was flying like the pilot was drunk. They clipped wings, both planes bursting into flames, and Romanov and Tony had crashed somewhere in the woods—yes, he could feel a tree now. The plane’s fuselage had remained intact but Tony hadn’t gotten into his suit fast enough and some sort of fluid had splattered on his face when the front of the plane crumpled. His eyes had burned enough that he had screamed, and then his vision went black. Romanov had yelled, once, and then she went silent just after the plane stilled in the snow and the pine trees.

            “Romanov. Can I tell you all the ways that Barton will kill me if you die?” He fumbled around, stumbling over roots and bits of hot metal. “Fuck.”

            “Tony,” came an unsure voice.

            He stopped and held up his hands. “Romanov?”

            “I’m here. What happened to your face?” She sounded funny. Foggy. Far away. Tony cursed again and walked toward her voice. He hit a tree. She snorted. “What are you doing?”

            “Making out with a tree. I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like. I can’t see shit. Where are you?”

            “To your left. No, wait, I guess that’s your right. I don’t know. My left.”

            He frowned into the darkness. “Unhelpful. Stop being difficult. Snap into mission mode.”

            “I _am_ in mission mode,” she muttered sullenly.

            Sullen was a telltale sign in most people. But most people weren’t the Widow and weren’t entirely capable of holding their shit together in a time of crisis. He stared in the direction of her voice. He sighed, realization coming together. “Natasha. Are you hurt?”

            “Nope.” He wished he could record her using American slang. It was classic. _Focus, Tony. Stop laughing in your head._

            “Stand up and walk to me.”

            She snorted again. “Nope. The world gets all wavy when I try to stand up.”

            “Wavy,” he repeats with a sigh. “Like you’re on a roller coaster.”

            “Yeah, and then there are colors that hurt my eyes.”

            Tony closed his eyes even though he couldn’t see anyway. “Fuck.”

            “Let’s not.”

            He opened his eyes. Still darkness. He held up two fingers. “Natasha, how many fingers am I holding up?”

            “Three,” she said in a firm voice.

            “Right,” Tony muttered. “Okay. Natasha. You have a concussion.”

            “I don’t get concussions,” she replied simply. Again, no room for argument.

            Except Tony did enjoy arguing with her. “You can and you do and you did.”

            “God, why are you making things sound so complicated?”

            Concussed Romanov was somewhere between adorable and really fucking annoying. Tony couldn’t decide which. He asked himself what Barton would do in this situation and in his head, he remembered the way that Barton would soften around Romanov, even if she never noticed it. He did not want to be soft. He wanted to push her into doing what he needed her to do. But that clearly wasn’t going to work. _Fine. We’ll try the Barton Way. Spiderwhisperer that he is._

            “Hey, Natasha,” Tony said, forcing himself to be a little gentler. “A few hours ago, you were arguing with me about a country’s path to independence. Remember?”

            “Yes,” she answered immediately. “I do.”

            “Do you remember why we were flying over Russia?”

            “We probably aren’t in Russia,” she said, her voice musing over their surroundings.

            Tony rolled his eyes and huffed softly. “Why can’t we be in Russia?”

            “I doubt Clint would let me back here after what happened.” It was the least glib and most serious thing she had said since they crash landed in some forest somewhere. The seriousness of her voice made Tony’s heart ache. He wanted to be home with Pepper and making fun of Clint and Natasha in the Tower’s kitchen. He wanted to be jealous of the way Clint knew his way around Natasha when Tony was still learning his way around Pepper. People thought that Pepper was easy to know, that she was predictable and easy because she didn’t grow up in the Red Room and wasn’t a superhero and wasn’t even connected to SHIELD, because she had never had to kill anyone.

            But it wasn’t true. Pepper was complicated and Tony had long ago realized that he didn’t want to downplay her complications and make her simple. That’s what he did before. He made her simple because it was easy to believe that he didn’t have emotions and she didn’t have emotions and that the entire world was his playtoy when Pepper Potts was a simple woman with simple needs and simple thought processes. He hadn’t fallen in love with Pepper’s glossy simplicity that he built up in his head. He had fallen in love with the twists and turns, the tight control she had over herself, and the way he could make her lose it. He had fallen in love with the gleam in her eyes when she was pushing back at him, either in the bedroom or the boardroom. He had fallen in love with the way she never failed to rise to a challenge. He had fallen in love with the way that Pepper Potts was everything Tony Stark had spent his entire life desperately wishing he could be: confident from the inside out, instead of the outside in.

            Tony didn’t want to go home without Natasha. Everyone deserved their someone and he figured that Clint and Natasha deserved each other more than most. But most of all, Tony liked the way that he learned more about himself and how to be in a relationship by watching two of the most dysfunctional people in his life.

            “He let you come,” Tony explained gently, “because it was important to you. And because you don’t let him tell you what to do.”

            She laughed a bit, a half-serious laugh. “If only you knew, Tony.”

            Tony winced. “Oh god, please don’t tell me about your sex life with Barton.”

            Not that he wouldn’t want to know. Not that he hadn’t wondered. But that was neither here, nor there.

            “Natasha,” Tony said, beginning again. “Do you see the plane?”

            “Yes. That’s our plane. Why is it smoking?”

            Tony could smell the leaking fluids. “Are there flames?”

            “No.”

            Relieved, he blew out a long breath. “I need you to go get my suit and the radio from the cockpit.”

            “Okay.” She agreed immediately but he didn’t hear her moving.

            “Natasha? You have to walk over there.” He prompted her.

            “Right. What does the radio look like?”

            Concussed Natasha was clueless and Tony worried he was losing her. “Hey, Natasha. Stay focused. Small, black, lots of knobs.”

            “Got it.” Then he heard feet crunching in snow. From his left, he heard a bunch of muttered curses in Russian and he held his breath. Then there was the sound of metal warping, giving and bending under the weight of a person, a harsh intake of breath, and feet landing hard onto the cold ground. He felt her approach and then shove the radio and a small metallic cylinder into his hand.

            “This?” she asked, like she wasn’t sure.

            Tony pressed a button on the side of the cylinder. The suit leapt to life, springing open and wrapping itself with clicks and buzzes around his body. He still didn’t have vision, but he had Jarvis. With the mask off, he sighed with relief. “Yes. Exactly. Turn the radio on and dial Barton.”

            “I don’t remember his number.”

            Tony willed himself not to hit her. “You just press and hold the one. It’ll dial the Tower.”

            Like she hadn’t been the one to suggest that shortcut anyway. For exactly this situation.

            Meanwhile, Tony started up the suit and dialed in Jarvis. “Hey. Jarvis. Get us out of here.”

            “I’m glad you are well, Sir.” JARVIS was nothing if not polite.

            “Blind and stuck with a concussed Romanov, but well, yes, thank you.”

            “Does Agent Romanov require medical attention?”

            “I’m sure as hell not touching her to find out. Blind, remember?”

            “Yes, sir. I’ll call the Tower for backup.”

            Meanwhile, sitting in the snow at his feet, Romanov was busy complaining on the radio to Barton about how heavy her head felt and how cold snow was and how complicated the radio was.

            Tony smiled when he heard Barton say, “Yes, those are complicated, aren’t they. I’m sorry about that, Tasha. You can’t go to sleep yet, though. We just got the ping from JARVIS with your location. Tell me about what happened.”

            “I can’t _remember,_ ” said Natasha, irritated.

            “Right,” Barton said, his voice full of patience. “What’s two plus two?”

            Tony closed his eyes and let JARVIS update them on the expected rescue flights and the status of the other plane—injuries but no deaths—as he heard Natasha answer coyly, “Five. Don’t be stupid, Barton. We can’t do this until you’re home.”

            “Until _you’re_ home,” Barton corrected her.

            Tony didn’t bother to tell Barton there was no point. He was pretty sure Barton knew better than any other man.

            “Sir?” JARVIS asked. “I have Ms Potts on the line.”

            “Tony?”

            Tony opened his eyes. Still blind. “Sweet baby sea otters am I glad to hear you.”


End file.
